


Coffee Pot Blues

by liberallesbian37



Series: Project Team Beta's 2013 Writing Challenge [6]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-03
Updated: 2013-03-03
Packaged: 2017-12-05 00:41:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/716889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liberallesbian37/pseuds/liberallesbian37
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A coffee pot reflects on a day of the woman it lives with.</p><p>Challenge 6/The Inanimate Object<br/>Date Posted: 3/3/13<br/>Fandom: Original Fiction<br/>Rating:PG-13<br/>Genre: General, Descriptive Summary/Reflection<br/>Content: Mentions of alcohol<br/>Character Pairing: None</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coffee Pot Blues

Disclaimer: Any resemblance to real events or people is unintended. I do, however, own this story and all ideas within.

 

                Every morning is the same routine. At 5:02 on the dot, you turn me on. You pop a container of fancy chocolate into my head and wait for it to drip out. The first cup of the morning is always the slowest; I spit out the coffee in small spurts. When I’m finished, you take the cup and head into the living room. You sit in your pajamas in the soft living room chair and watch a half hour of the news. At 5:34, you finish your coffee and carefully rinse out the cup. You go to the bathroom and take your shower. Every day, you wash your hair with your favorite lavender shampoo and conditioner, the kind that fills the whole house with its sweet scent. After drying off and getting dressed, you come back to me.

                At 6:01, you make your second cup. This time I’m a bit faster. You retrieve the cup and leave me for the bedroom. You dress in a flowing skirt and button up shirt. Sometimes you liven up the outfit with a scarf or a sweater. You dry and curl your hair, and then add jewelry to accentuate the look. Finally, you finish your makeup, as well as your coffee.

                At 7:06, you’re ready to leave the house for work. You only have one thing to do before you leave. You get your favorite travel mug out of the cabinet and make your third cup of coffee. I sputter it out slowly; I don’t want you to go. I have nothing to do while you’re gone, no job to perform. You smile and inhale the scent of coffee beans before flipping off the lights. You double-check the lock on the door and leave me here, alone.

                The hours you are gone agonize me. I’m bored. I try to list every type of coffee I’ve ever tasted, but the list isn’t very long. You’re very specific in your tastes.

                Every afternoon is also the same. You return home from work at 3:33, 3:37 if traffic is bad. Your day was rough, if the circles under your eyes are any indication. Before doing anything else, you grab a mug out of the cabinet and press the “large” icon. I warm up, excited that you’re going to spend the rest of the day with me. You put your hand on your hip and wait. Once I start dribbling out the hot liquid, you kick off your heels and search the cabinet for something to snack on. Unsatisfied with what you find, you settle for adding a bit of milk to your coffee. You smile fondly at me before taking the mug into the living room and settling into the chair. You put your feet up and turn on the TV, flipping around for a minute before settling on “House Hunters International”. You don’t even like the show, but you watch it every day. It’s on at this time, and you need the background noise. Although, my constant buzz should be enough for you. Your coffee isn’t even gone when you nod off into a light sleep, despite the caffeine. After napping for a half hour, you yawn and stretch. It’s time for you to get some work down.  One time I overheard a fight between you and your mother when she accused you of having obsessive compulsive disorder. Despite her efforts at helping, you continue a daily cleaning routine.

                You heat up your coffee and start cleaning the house. First, you run the vacuum, humming softly to yourself as you do so. Next, you go clean the bathroom. You scrub the sink and bathtub with lemon twist cleaner. Finally, you move on to the kitchen. You wipe down the stove and counters, taking care to wipe up every speck of dirt—existent or not. Pretty soon, it is nearly five.

                I watch you from my spot on the counter as you slowly move on to cooking dinner. You examine the refrigerator, glaring in at the sparse shelves. With a small sigh, you pull out a bag of frozen vegetables. You make this dish at least once a week. It’s quick, clean, and nearly impossible to screw up. A pot is pulled from a cabinet, the stove is turned on. You measure out exactly two cups of water into the pot and add a sprinkle of salt. You sip your coffee while waiting for the water to boil. Almost as a second thought, you run into the pantry and grab a box of pasta. You pull out a second pot, this one smaller, add water and salt, and stick it on the stove. You add the vegetables to the first pot once it starts boiling. Red peppers, broccoli, corn, potatoes, and other vegetables instantly begin to sizzle in the water. To the other pot, you add exactly a cup of penne pasta. You set the timer for the food and settle at the kitchen table with your coffee. A pile of bills sits in the basket at the center of the table. You sigh softly, staring at your coffee cup. It’s nearly empty, but you don’t quite want to make another cup. You know you drink too much coffee, but most days you don’t care. You aren’t addicted; you just enjoy the warmth and the taste. Finally, the timer goes off. You mix the vegetables with the pasta, add some butter, and top the bowl with parmesan cheese. With a satisfied smile, you pour a glass of water. Tonight, you add a slice of lemon to the water. You’re dressed in fancy clothes, so you might as well play the part, even if just for tonight.

                You begin to eat, savoring each bite. I hum loudly, to remind you that I’m here. You look at me to make sure I’m not broken before turning back to your dinner. Idly, you pick up one of today’s bills and tear it open with your nail. It’s a water bill. It doesn’t matter to you, though. They’re all the same to you: just another bill that your secretary salary won’t pay. Finishing your food, you place the plate in the sink. You pick up your mug and set it back down. You mumble a curse under your breath before grabbing the mug in resignation.

                You make another cup of coffee, this time adding a healthy splash of Kahlua. Your day must have been worse than I thought; you don’t drink very often. You amble into your bedroom, deciding it is to change clothes. You grab your pajama pants and throw on a tank top. For the first time all day, you truly feel relaxed. At least until you finish the coffee.

                You stomp back into the kitchen. You don’t have much tolerance for alcohol, and the liquor went straight through you, causing anger to build in your system. You jab my “off” button, determined not to have another cup of the addictive substance. I power off, knowing tomorrow will be, with little variation, the same routine.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my betas, Leafia and Hipsters-in-paris.


End file.
